This is the Very Ecstasy of Love
by It's-A-Passion
Summary: The real world was a scary place. Dante DelVecchio had taken down enough of the things that go bump in the night to know that better than most. She's dangerous, tough as nails and not afraid of the dark. It's just her and her dad, going from town to town, until her strange life is shattered and she's up against the monsters of the night all by herself with no back up. Dean/OC.
1. Ad Vitam Paramus

_Prologue - Ad Vitam Paramus_

Dante DelVecchio woke to the soft sound of clicking coming from the kitchen. Sound travelled in this small house; the walls were thin. Her dad was probably reloading a tray with clips. He did that each morning. But it was the middle of the night, which meant he was going hunting in a couple hours. Dante hated when her dad went hunting without her. And she wasn't talking about buck hunting.

She sighed, pulling herself out of bed and walking down the short hallway, her feet whispering over the hardwood floors. She was barely three steps towards the kitchen when her feet were frozen. Winters in Montague, Nashville weren't terribly frigid, but since they'd arrived two weeks ago, it had alternated between rain and wind. Sometimes both at the same time. She hadn't seen the sun in two weeks.

She sat down at the small table opposite where her dad stood with his open duffle bag. She watched his trained fingers expertly load the bullets. "When?"

"Two hours."

She sighed, looking away, before going to the stove to make chamomile tea. She moved around the kitchen only to keep her hands busy. Shame it didn't help keep her now wide awake mind busy too. She started to clean the dishes in the sink; a chopping board, fry pan and two plates and cutlery. An empty carton of eggs stood at the end of the bench. The only thing her dad knew how to cook was an omelet.

If he had his way, that would be all they ate. It was enough eggs to drive a girl insane. If she wanted something other than omelets for breakfast, lunch and dinner, she had to make it herself.

"I'll do that," he said. "Go back to bed. You have school in the morning."

"I don't mind," she said, looking up into his haggard and weary-lined face. His face was cleanly shaven and his black and grey hair was cropped short, like always; a left-over habit from his time in the military. His face was long, his eyes hooded and hard. "I could play hookey and come with…?"

"Not this time."

She frowned. Since they'd come to Montague, he hadn't let her come along. He wouldn't even let her drive the pickup or carry the ammo. And she had no idea why. She could only guess; he was hunting something _bad_. Too dangerous for her to be a part of.

Which, to her, meant he needed all the help he could get. But he didn't see it that way.

She sat back down, sipping at her tea and scalding her tongue in the process. She glared at the offending liquid, warming her fingers around the mug. She brought her knees up on the wooden chair, resting it there. Her curling, frizzy black hair fell around her face, obscuring her green-brown eyes. She did that when she thinking things over, or when she didn't want anyone to read the expressions on her face. Her face was an open book – that, she got from her mum. Right now, she didn't want her dad to see the irritation written all over.

One of the only features, aside from her hair, that she got from her dad was the colour of her eyes. The round, wide shape of them, her heart shaped face, her small mouth and nose and her delicate neck she got from her mum. She wished she looked more like her dad. She couldn't even remember her mum and she had no desires to look like the woman who, however unintentionally, had left them alone in this life.

Her well-muscled thighs and biceps, however, she got from the training her dad made her do. Which she did without complaint. She'd rather be strong and able to hold her own, then dainty and useless.

"So…" he cleared his throat uncomfortably. Her dad wasn't the smoothest with words, and he wasn't all that into the hug-gy, talk about your feelings, emotional stuff. But he tried, ever since mum died. And she appreciated it, as awkward as it could get. "How's…school?"

"Fine." _Boring as hell. Pointless._

It was hard to take algebra and grammar structures seriously when you knew what was out there, stalking them, hunting them, killing them. This was the business she was entering into. But her dad didn't want this for her. He wanted her to go to college and become a nurse, or an accountant, or a teacher. Something safe. Or, _safer_. No one was really safe. It was one of the few things they disagreed on.

"Made friends?"

"Yep." _Not one; just like the town before this one, and the town before that._

How was she supposed to make friends knowing they'd be hitting the road in a couple weeks, Montague a small blimp in the rear vision mirror of their beat up, old pickup? Sure, she could lie to herself; _maybe this time we'll stay longer. Maybe this time I'll actually develop a relationship with another human being besides my dad before we leave._

But she wasn't all that into lying to herself. And really, she didn't need anyone close enough to notice the occasional bruises on her arms, legs and back. They didn't need people asking questions – that always led to trouble for them.

And she didn't need friends. She could get through the day easily enough. It was the night that worried her. It was the night where most of the real shit happened. But her dad seemed to think differently, so she let him believe that she'd made friends. Technically, it wasn't a complete lie; that one guy – Trevor? Tristan? Trent? Something beginning with a T – had invited her to sit with his friends at lunch. She'd considered it for a millisecond, before deciding she didn't feel up to giving them her life story. Well, her fake life story, anyway. It was tedious, repeating it over and over again every couple months.

She took another sip, the tea significantly cooler now. Her tongue felt funny from being burnt.

An hour and a half, another cup of tea and some toast later, Mark DelVecchio was heading out. He grabbed his duffle bag with one hand despite the obvious weight to it and ruffled her hair as he walked past her to the door. "Love yah, kid."

"Dad?"

"Yeah," he turned slightly, his eyes already occupied with thoughts on his upcoming job.

They had an unspoken rule; no teary goodbyes, no blubbering, no sappy moments. They were tough and strong and focused. Emotions would only get in the way; emotions were a weakness. It was a rule she stuck to, because he needed it; needed to know she could look after herself. And if she got teary-eyed every time he went on a hunt without her, she'd probably have lost most of the liquid in her body. It didn't mean she didn't worry though.

"Remember to guard your flank when you strike; you know you always leave it open when you're tired," she said snarkily.

"Smartass," he muttered with a grin.

"And don't you forget it," she nodded proudly, a self-important smile on her face.

He walked out the front door and she could hear the engine start up, puttering, before the tires squeaked slightly as he peeled out onto the road. It'd seen its better days, but it was trustworthy, and her dad had repaired the engine so it wouldn't be breaking down on them anytime soon. That was the last thing they needed in the middle of a jam.

"Don't die," she whispered.

It was more of a prayer than a plea.

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	2. Terra Firma

_Chapter One – Terra Firma_

Dante's alarm clock blared at her, demanding she wake the hell up. She groaned before pushing herself up, her fingers brushing over the cool metal of the blade under her pillow. So, maybe she was a little paranoid. But really, she had good reason to be.

Truthfully, she didn't think of it as being paranoid though; she was being safe. Prepared. It was what her daddy taught her.

She showered, washing quickly, before pulling on jeans, a singlet, a grey hoodie and a black leather jacket. Her clothing was well worn; the leather of her jacket was soft and moveable, her jeans were ripped though not in the artfully done way that people could buy; the rips in her jeans were accidents from hunts and from training. She had the scars and bruises to prove it.

They didn't have money to spend on the newest trends; her clothing came from thrift shops. It didn't bother her in the least. Prada and Gucci were as foreign words to her as Remington Model 7400 and shuriken were to the other girls in her class.

She shoved a small spearhead into the side of her right mud covered combat boot, and put her pocketknife into the pocket of her hoodie, inside her leather jacket. Neither were noticeable. She grabbed her bag, zipped her jacket and lifted up the hood, and locked the house up behind her, munching on a granola bar.

She waited as long as she dared before heading to school, just in case her dad was on his way home. At least then, she'd know he was safe. She'd know her prayer had been answered.

The morning was just as dreary as every other; clouds circled overhead, welcoming the world with a greyish light and some icy wind. At least it wasn't raining yet. She bowed her head against the breeze, watching her sturdy boots hit the ground in steady strides, her hands shoved in her pockets.

She was tempted to ditch and go after her dad. Which was a stupid, reckless idea; she didn't know where he'd gone, or even what he was hunting. Even if by some miracle she found out where he was, she had no idea of what she'd be walking into. Every experienced hunter knew you couldn't just storm in, guns blazing. It required patience. Research. Level headedness. So school it was.

It wasn't a long walk to the small school she'd been enrolled in. She hadn't even bothered to find out its name; it wasn't important anyway considering she'd be leaving it soon. She ignored the other kids gathered in the car park and around the entrance, and in the hallways. She didn't have much more to go before she could be out of here.

School wasn't her thing. She was a good researcher; she'd had plenty of experience doing research for her dad on trips. But she felt her time was being wasted doing assignments about unrelated topics, especially when she had no desire to go to college to get a fancy degree that said she could do shit.

She'd explained this numerous times to her dad, but he still insisted on at least finishing high school. She was pretty sure he'd been working on the speech he'd use to try to convince her to go to college for the last year.

Fluorescent bulbs threw the below students in an unflattering light, and the one above her locker flickered every now and then. Grabbing her books from her locker, she headed out across a large pavement quadrangle dotted with tables where people could eat lunch, to the block of classrooms on the other side. The school seemed to be built around this massive quadrangle, like ripples moving outwards from the center.

There was a commotion roughly in the middle, a crowd gathered around in a circle. She should have ignored it, should have kept walking. She really had no interest in what caught their attention; she just wanted to get through the day and get home to see if her dad was back yet, see if he needed her to stitch him up again, if he need medical attention, or how beat up he was. Or if she was going to have to spend another night in that small, cold house by herself, listening to the wind howl around her, the windows shuddering from the force of the gale as she wondered if he was okay.

The crowd got louder, cheers and goads of encouragement rising up above the others. She paused. Shook her head, before continuing along. Her steps faltered and she sighed, turning around and walking towards them.

"Get him, Randy!" A guy near her shouted, raising his fist, his eyes locked on the middle of the crowd.

"Yeah, pummel him!" Another voice said from somewhere else.

A fight.

Not an uncommon occurrence in schools, and really none of her damn business. She turned around to leave, but before she could, she caught a glimpse of bright blue eyes. Just a flash. But she recognized them. The boy who'd come up to her and introduced himself. Trent, Tucker, Thomas? For the life of her, she couldn't remember his damn name. There he was, the only boy who'd been friendly to her. But he wasn't a part of the crowd gathered around. She pushed her way to the front lines.

He was getting his ass handed to him.

One of his eyes was closing, puffy, and his lip was split. He was a lanky guy, tall and skinny. The guy who clearly gave him the blooming black eyes and split lip was much bigger than him; Dante wagered he hit the gym to lift weights at least three times a week. It was hardly a fair fight.

Irritation grew in her chest, making her clench her jaw. All she wanted to do was just pass through under the radar and not draw any attention to herself. She didn't even have half a year left of schooling to finish up, and she'd figured she'd be able to end her senior year without getting into another fight. She didn't need anyone else whispering about how she was a freak, an oddity. It wasn't normal that she could fight like that. Where other girls had nail polish collections, she had a knife collection. But dammit, she was a sucker for the underdog.

And he had been nice.

She stepped forward, just inside the ring of students, hoping to stop the fight without getting too involved.

"Leave him alone," she said, her voice bored and indifferent, like this was an inconvenience. Which, technically, it was. If she got in a fight, her daddy was going to be pissed.

"Mind your own business," the aggressor snapped at her dismissively, raising his fists into a boxing like pose. She could immediately pick out what was wrong with his stance. If Dante had used that pose at the beginning of a fight with her dad or someone else who knew what they were doing, her ass would be hitting the ground faster than she could say mercy.

Then she'd be bitched to about her sloppiness, and she'd be made to do another hour of practice. And he probably wouldn't let her go on the next hunting trip until she got her shit together.

Dante had met this type of guy before. Bullies, who used their size and strength rather than any actual fighting form. There were plenty of ways to take down a bigger, stronger opponent, but she doubted anyone here knew them.

Dante's green-brown eyes flashed in momentary anger at being dismissed. His dismissal said she was insignificant and unimportant, and couldn't enforce her command. It pissed her off.

"I said," she snapped forcefully, her voice ice cold, pulling their eyes towards her as she took another step closer to them. Now she was invested in this fight, now she squashed any hope of diffusing the situation before it got out of hand and the nice boy got a concussion, or worse. "Leave him alone."

They looked at her, the crowd quieting. He really had no idea what to make of her, and Dante doubted anyone had stepped up like this before. At least, no one like her.

"Run along, little girl," he taunted, and she rolled her eyes, a short snort of laughter leaving her lips. So that was how he was going to play this. By insulting her in hopes she'd run off crying. She guessed no one had told him that Dante DelVecchio hadn't cried in thirteen years, and she wasn't about to start now just because a guy pumped up on ego and adrenaline was being nasty. Knowing she could floor his ass helped too.

"If you don't leave him alone, I'll make you," she said sweetly, with an innocent smile that was completely non-threatening. But her voice held an undercurrent of that threat. She hated when people pointed out her petite frame. It was a real chip on her shoulder. Because in this life, being slightly smaller was a hindrance. Looking good was hardly a priority; she had her sights set more on holding her own and surviving.

She even kind of hoped he'd pick a fight with her. It'd help work off that agitated energy she was carrying around at not being allowed on the hunting trip with her dad. He dropped his stance and laughed. A couple people in the crowd laughed as well. He took the couple steps toward her. His hands came out to shove at her shoulders, "And how're you going - ,"

The next second she grabbed his outstretched hands with her own, bringing her right foot up to slam into his chest while dropping her back to the ground, dragging him with her. Her other leg came up to the side of his head, against his neck, while her foot at his chest locked around his left arm which she still gripped with her own. He smacked into the cement, knocking the wind out of him, and he blinked up at the sky dazedly, his left arm twisted painfully as she gripped it, her legs on either side of that arm holding him down from her sitting position. If she leaned back, it would really hurt him.

The move was called juji gatame, which was a judo move that could break the elbow of her opponent. By bending his elbow across the full fulcrum of her hips, she was subjecting the weak joint to the leverage of two strong forces; the pull of her thighs across his chest and shoulders and her hands on his wrist.

She let him go, and he scrambled up. She jumped up too, her legs nimble. She could hear mutterings in the crowd. She bounced on the spot, shaking her hands out, prepping herself.

"Wanna go again?" She drawled disinterestedly, moving her hands into a proper version of his previous stance. Her goad made him clench his jaw, his nostrils flaring, and he ducked down, charging at her. She figured he was a football player, because she'd seen players tackle each other in a similar way.

As he reached her, she grabbed his right arm with her left, her other arm coming over the back of his down-turned head to lock under his armpit of the same arm. Her arm pressed down on his neck as her fingers wrapped around his upper arm where it met his side, her other hand holding his arm out straight. The move made him stop before he could tackle her, and he yelled out as she brought him to the ground. He was helpless to get out of it and could only follow her guiding hands to the ground.

It was an Eskrima takedown called baliog pomali; it relied on a deflection moment imparted to the neck to cause damage. The move could crush soft tissue and vertebrae if enforced quickly by bringing her weight down fast. But she wasn't trying to hurt him.

No. she was doing something much worse. She was humiliating him. And when she realized that, she quickly let go, moving away.

This was what she knew; she knew how to survive in the supernatural world. She knew how to fight and take down opponents bigger than her. Give her a shotgun, a riffle, a shuriken, a spearhead, a knife, a crossbow, a stake and she'd know what to do easily. Hand her a bottle of nail polish, or make up, or a bunch of giggling girl friends, or a copy of Cosmo and she'd be completely at a loss.

But she used neither moves to inflict damage. They were just deflective moves that he could break out of or see coming if he knew anything about fighting. When he stood up slowly, his cheeks were slightly pink in embarrassment. She didn't let herself feel too guilty; he had been the one to start the fight, and he had been the one beating up a smaller kid. She was just giving him a taste of his own medicine. But she still felt a little guilty.

She thrust her jaw out, her eyes hard, "I guess this little girl can kick your big boy ass."

Her daddy would be proud. Proud of her stance, her quick deflections, maybe. But the fact that she'd called attention to herself, gotten in a fight and embarrassed a guy? Probably not. There was nothing worthy of pride in taking down a much more inexperienced fighter.

But…

It was actually kind of fun, being able to throw herself around on the ground without hurting herself. This guy was easily twice her size, and it gave her a sort of smug satisfaction knowing she could bring him down. But there it was again; this fight was hardly fair. She knew what she was doing. He had no clue.

When he didn't charge Dante again, she dropped her hands and stood up straight. She glanced over at the boy who'd been nice to her; his mouth was dropped open slightly, staring at her with wide-eyed disbelief. Yeah, that was the standard response she got. It was actually kind of insulting.

"Come on," she sighed, gesturing away from the crowd. She turned and started walking away. The people gathered in the crowd parted easily to give her room, still shocked. She saw some money exchange hands. Cue the gossip mill. By lunch, they'd probably be saying she took the big guy down with nothing but her pinky finger. Those kinds of things always got blown out of proportion.

And sure, she took down that guy easily, but he didn't know what he was doing. Going up against a supernatural entity that was much stronger and faster was much harder. Heck, going up against someone who just knew how to fight the way she did was much harder. That's why dad always said pick your opponents wisely – only take on what you can handle.

She walked quickly, eager to get away from curious eyes.

"Hey!" The nice guy's voice called from behind and she heard feet smacking against cement as he caught up to her. He was taller, so his long legs could lope up to hers easily.

She sent a quick glance at him, then turned back to the front as she walked to her classroom, which, vaguely, she remembered he was also in. "What?"

"Thanks," he said. She nodded once. No problem, she sighed mentally, now I'm going to be the topic of discussion all over again just when they were starting to get bored of me. But at least you won't have your ass kicked today. "How'd you learn to do that?"

Maybe he took her nod as a signal of wanting a conversation. She didn't know.

She shrugged. She was no expert, but she knew a bit about a lot of somethings.

"Well, it was pretty cool," he grinned, despite his split lip and puffy eye, his face lit up. "Maybe you could teach me?" He hopped back and forth on his feet, holding his hands up in a boxing stance and sending his fists flying. She ducked to avoid a wayward one before it could connect with the side of her skull.

She raised an eyebrow at him when she straightened up, "Don't do that again."

"Sorry."

She shook her head, "Don't be sorry, just don't do it again. You're stance is as unsteady as a knife trying to balance on its tip. You'll break your thumbs if you keep them tucked in, and you're more likely to knock yourself out with your coordination. And if you keep moving like that, I wouldn't have to do anything but wait for you to run into my attacks."

"See!" He grinned, pointing at her. "That's what I'm talking about!"

Spotting her classroom, she sped up, "Look, you want to learn to fight, you sign up for one of those classes."

"You're not really a people person, are you?" he asked, holding the door to their classroom open for her. The gesture niggled at her; she could open her own damn door. But then, he was just being nice. That seemed to be what he was; nice.

She shook her head, "I'm just not your kind of people person." When she sat down in a seat, he sat in the one beside her and she sighed internally.

"What do you mean?" he frowned, turning his whole body to face her.

She shrugged, "I'm emotionally un-invested in everything around me." And it was true. Because as soon as she became attached to something, or someone, they became a liability. They became a weapon to be used against her. And she didn't need any weaknesses; she already had enough. They could be taken away, just like her mama.

He snorted, "Now you're just lying to yourself."

Dante rolled her eyes. "Right, because you know me so much better than I know myself," she drawled sarcastically.

"If that were true, I wouldn't be trying to unravel the mystery that is Dante DelVecchio. Seriously, who knows how to fight like that? No, if you really were emotionally un-invested, you wouldn't have helped me."

Of course he would use that as evidence. She ignored his question. "I owed you one. And I don't like owing people anything. Now we're even." She looked at his busted up face, "shouldn't you go to the nurse?"

Like he only just realized he was beat up, he quickly stood, gathering his stuff, "See you at lunch."

She didn't reply. Honestly, she was considering ditching again; she had no desire to be around when everything blew up in her face, or when the whispering started.

The teacher walked in then, an older man. Dante guessed he was in his late forties, wondering where most of his life had gone. He began his history lesson.

Dante was nineteen, which made her older than everyone else in the school. It was kind of depressing, being the oldest, and still stuck in school. But the year her mum had died, her dad had pulled her out of school, supposedly homeschooling. Really though, he began her training to survive the real world. And as a result, academically, she fell behind. When her dad did put her back in school, she'd hadn't been able to continue to the next grade like everyone else her age. She was ready for her schooling life to be over. She was ready to be a full-time hunter.

But her daddy didn't want that.

The teacher continued to drone on, and she was glad she'd picked the back corner of the classroom, beside a window that she could stare out of.

"Hey!" She heard a female voice hiss. She continued to stare out the window, at the swirling grey sky, assuming it was just some friends whispering to each other as the teacher talked. He really didn't seem to care if anyone paid attention in his class. "Hey! New girl!"

A little louder this time and a couple people in front of her turned around slightly to listen in. Dante sent a lazy look at the girl trying to get her attention. She raised an eyebrow, "What?"

Her hair was pulled back neatly, her pristine cheerleader uniform fitted perfectly. "If you go near my boyfriend again, you'll be sorry," she said, her voice sugary sweet, like instead of threatening Dante, she was welcoming her to the small town, that she so desperately wanted to leave.

The threat made Dante snort. As if this little girl could take her on. For a moment, she thought the cheerleader meant the guy she'd helped, whose name started with T. but no, of course not; that would veer scarily out of stereotypes. The cheerleader dated a jock, and the aggressor in the fight had obviously been a jock. And she was all pissy that Dante had gone near him?

Jesus, what was wrong with this girl?

Dante smiled just as sweetly in turn, "Well bless your heart for sticking with your guy despite his ass whooping."

She could have shouted a string of expletives and insults and obscene words in this stuck up girl's face, and none of it would have been as cutting as 'bless your heart'.

It seemed, despite all the time she spent up north, she was still a Southern girl.

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**I'm not from America, so I actually have no clue what I'm on about when it comes to accents/sayings/land marks etc., - it's all just from the internet. So if I get something wrong, please tell me so I can fix it!**

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**Morgan Elizebeth Jacobs: **Thanks so much for being my very first reviewer! I'm glad you'd like to read more of this story, so I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well! Thanks so much for taking the time to review it for me – it means a lot to me!

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